


and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: The sestras celebrate Christmas.





	and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near

Nightmares shudder Sarah awake on the wrong side of dawn, leaving her panting and dry-heaving off of the edge of Alison’s couch. Merry Christmas; her throat tastes like vomit. She kicks off the stifling blanket and wobbles her way to her feet, tired. There’s a headache banging at her temples -- Cosima’s homemade eggnog had the approximate strength of an atom bomb, and it’s left Sarah wrecked. Somehow she’s collapsed on Alison’s couch wearing her jeans, one of her shoes, and the hideously ugly Christmas sweater Alison had made for her. 

It’s too early to deal with the sequins on the sleeves. Sarah walks up the stairs -- quietly, the balls of her feet pressed to the edges -- and heads towards Alison’s kitchen to make coffee.

On her way there she passes Helena, sitting calmly by the crackling fireplace, also wearing one of Alison’s terrible sestra-sweaters. She’s holding her phone in one hand and playing Candy Crush. With the other hand she is holding a steak knife.

It’s too early to deal with that too, so Sarah just ignores it.

She does make two cups -- one cup of coffee with a little bit of cream, one cup of cream with a little bit of coffee. When she sits down next to Helena she hands Helena the lighter one and takes a big drink from her own.

“You waitin’ for Santa?” she says.

“Yes,” Helena says. “ _Sestra_  Cosima says he is not real, but if he comes down the chimney...” she gestures with her knife in a way that says  _y’know, just in case_. Her phone has been abandoned for the delights of caffeinated milk. After her first gulp, she’s already got a milk mustache.

“Merry Christmas,” Sarah says.

“Many happy returnings.”

Sarah scoots over so she can rest her shoulder against Helena’s shoulder and put her bare feet closer to the fire. “Think Santa’d burn before he had to deal with you,” she says.

“No,” Helena says, shaking her head. “Magic coat. Donnie Hendrick says, because Gemma was upset.”

“You believe him?”

“I like believing in things sometimes.”

Sarah closes her eyes; the fire paints red streaks against the back of her eyelids. The idea of Santa is fun enough if it’s decorations in the mall or chocolate wrappers or figurines, but right now the idea of an old man crawling into their home with gifts for Kira is fucking terrifying. It’s fucking terrifying, which is stupid.

“Glad you’re out here keepin’ watch,” Sarah says.

“Always.”

“I’m still--” Sarah says, and then she shakes her head and mutters “it’s stupid.” Drinks more coffee. The trick is finding enough to wake her up, but not enough to give her the sort of screaming panic that makes her grab her gun. She’d promised she would stop doing that, and she’s going to, and she is not going to freak out on Christmas. She’s not.

“Not stupid,” Helena says. “Easy to learn to watch for tigers. Less easy to stop watching, once you start.” She leans forward and pokes one of the logs with her bare toes until it crumples and the fire springs back to life. Then she leans back again, apparently unconcerned.

“Tigers,” Sarah murmurs.

“Tricky,” Helena says. “Sometimes, just shadows. Sometimes, just a very large orange cat. Who knows.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says -- which is a stupid answer, but she knows Helena gets it anyways. “It’s weird,” she says. “The kids not bein’ up yet. Used to be Kira would wake up at 3 in the bloody morning to see Santa, but...they’re all too old, I guess. ‘n Donnie and Arthur aren’t old enough.”

“Only  _sestras_  now,” Helena says. “Very tragic.”

Sarah snorts, drinks more coffee. The fire purrs to itself, and it’s not a tiger; there are no tigers in the room, and if there are Helena will stab them with what looks like Alison’s knife. The nightmare-adrenaline is starting to fade, and Sarah is in that weird gap where the exhaustion is just starting to swell up again -- before the caffeine comes in and clobbers it and she’s up to the task of the next eight hours with her sisters and her family.

“Sarah?” Helena says.

“Mm?”

“What did you do for holidays,” Helena says. “When you were little.”

“With S?”

“Yes,” Helena says. She’s giving Sarah that look out of the corner of her eyes; it’s the one everyone gives Sarah, still, the look of someone putting one foot on the ice and waiting to see if it’ll break.

“Oh, I dunno,” Sarah says. She sighs. “S got us socks.”

Helena snorts.

“Yeah, I know, the worst. She didn’t even try to tell us Santa was real. We knew it was -- y’know, whatever she could get us. I never asked for a pony or anythin’. Albums, sometimes. New boots. Didn’t matter what I asked for, anyway, she always just got us socks.”

“Nice socks?”

“Thick grey socks. Maybe she thought it was funny. Yeah, actually, she probably thought it was funny. Felix, when he was a kid, he wouldn’t wear anything grey unless you forced it on ‘im. The look on his face...” and she blinks, and she’s back here. A different fire, a different home, a different family.

“You never believed in the Santa Claus.”

“No,” Sarah says. (She’s lying.)

(Well--)

(She’d told herself she didn’t believe, but -- if you’re a kid and you’re pretending to be brave, mostly, and there’s this guy flying all around the world delivering presents to kids, and he always knows exactly what you want, and he’ll always come for you even if you’re poor or scared or moving from house to house every three weeks--)

(But even then she’d known she wasn’t good, so.)

“I did not know about him,” Helena says, “until the first Christmas. At  _sestra_  Alison’s house. When she was still angry with me, for killing her  _sestra_ s and also for having babies. Donnie Hendrick told me about it. I thought it was joke. Then, later, I was sad.”

“What would you have wanted?”

“You,” Helena says, casually. “Babka cake. A chance to say sorry, maybe, or to say goodbye. I don’t know.”

Sarah rests her head on Helena’s shoulder; Helena lets her. A chance to say sorry, maybe, or to say goodbye. Beth and Katja and MK are open wounds; Tony and Krystal and Rachel are weird sour spaces, guilt cavities. Sarah closes her eyes and they’re all here, wearing stupid sweaters. MK has pulled the sleeves over her hands. Beth is spiking her cocoa. Krystal’s painted her nails red and green; Rachel is making the world’s most sour expression, but you can tell she’s trying not to smile. Sarah hates herself for imagining it -- really fucking hates herself -- paints in the mistletoe tucked into Tony’s hair and the way he laughs whenever anyone comes near him. Katja in a sweater that clashes horribly with her hair.  _Sorry_ , she tells them.  _Maybe goodbye? I don’t know_.

When she opens her eyes she sees Alison, sitting down on the couch. Her hair is a rat’s nest; her face is bare of makeup. She’s wearing her own sweater -- which is of course less ugly than the rest of theirs, because Alison would put her sisters through fashion hell but never go there herself.

“Merry Christmas,” Sarah says.

“Merry Christmas,” Alison says. She watches the fire, opens her mouth and exhales slowly.

“Ready for the madhouse?” Sarah says.

“No,” Alison says. “Never.”

“I can help with baking,” Helena says.

“Yes, please,” Alison says. She laughs a little bit to herself, hysterically. “Pancakes for a dozen!”

“And three of ‘em are hyper kids on Christmas morning.”

“Heaven help us,” Alison says, and tilts a smile at Sarah. “Is there coffee?” she says in the general direction of Sarah’s half-filled mug.

“Probably cold,” Sarah says. She offers the mug in Alison’s general direction; Alison takes it, takes a sip, makes a face, takes another sip.

“No Santa,” Helena says.

“Helena,” Alison says. “You saw me put presents in their stockings last night.”

Helena shrugs a shoulder. “Still,” she says. “He did not come.”

“Then where did all the cookies go?” Alison asks, but she doesn’t seem to need an answer. She passes the mug back to Sarah, who also doesn’t need that question answered. (She wishes Helena had saved her some, though.)

“Did you believe in Santa?” Sarah says. “When you were a kid. We’re oh for two so far.”

“No,” Alison says. “Not really. Our house wasn’t -- Santa was never really the  _reason for the season_.” She says the last words with a mocking lilt that Sarah doesn’t get. She lets it go, watches Alison pull her sleeves perfectly straight. She knocks her shoulder into Alison’s knee. “Come sit on the ground,” she says. “Unless you’re too good for us or somethin’.”

Alison rolls her eyes and a smile wavers its way back onto her face. She sits on the ground with her knees underneath her. “I can’t remember the last time I was up earlier than Oscar and Gemma,” she murmurs. “I feel like I should...” she trails off, pulls pieces of her hair into place. (They spring back immediately.) Helena leans forward to poke the fire with her bare foot again, and it grumbles up a little more warmth for the three of them.

“If you need help,” Sarah says, “you can ask.” She shifts so she’s leaned back on her hands. “With the pancakes.”

“Thank you,” Alison says. “For the pancakes.” She dips her head briefly to touch Sarah’s shoulder, and then she sits up straight again. She reaches for Sarah’s coffee, takes it, drinks some more, obviously hates it again. Passes it back. Sarah drinks some. Helena shoves her tongue into her own mug and licks up the dregs of coffee grounds and cream from her mug.

“So,” she says, putting the mug down. “Pan cakes.”

“Now?” Sarah says.

“The sun is rising,” Helena says -- and when Sarah looks outside, it is.

“Oscar will come charging down the stairs soon,” Alison says. “We’ll all be in trouble if they aren’t ready by then.” She stands up; her bones creak, because all of their bones creak now, because they are getting older and it’s terrifying. Helena springs to her feet, holds up a hand to help Sarah up. Sarah stands.

They make enough pancakes to feed a dozen, or maybe an army, or maybe a family. MK’s mouth twitches up into a small secretive smile when Alison measures the flour precisely right; Beth laughs when Helena eats a raw egg, but then again Sarah does too. 

 _Sorry I lost your phone_ , Tony says. 

 _It’s fine,_ Sarah says.  _I get it. I used to lose mine too. I used to lose it all the time._  She dabs dough on Helena’s nose and Helena goes cross-eyed trying to lick it off. Alison puts a dollop of pancake dough in the pan; it sizzles, and the air smells warm. Katja, sitting on a stool, closes her eyes and inhales.

Oscar is first down the stairs, then Gemma and Kira -- holding hands and whispering, secretive. They drown their pancakes in maple syrup, and Helena licks their plates clean and then runs screaming with them into the living room to tear through presents. Sarah wraps plates of pancakes in tinfoil and puts them in the oven to get warm. When she was a kid, S would do that for them -- Sarah and Felix would come stumbling back into the kitchen, awake enough to know they were starving, and S would pull more pancakes out and it would feel like magic.

Alison puts more coffee on, and Sarah squeezes around her to grab the tin of Cosima’s chai from the cabinet. “Might as well,” she says. 

“Mom!” Kira says, running back into the kitchen. “Aunt Cosima got me a chemistry kit!”

“‘course she did,” Sarah says. “You’re the other science monkey, yeah?”

“If you’re going to make acid do it over the sink!” Alison calls after Kira’s fleeing back. “She’s going to stain the carpet neon green,” she mutters, and goes back to rinsing out Sarah’s mug.

“Sorry,” Sarah says.

“It’s alright,” Alison says. “I was going to replace it anyways.” She smiles to herself with a fond melancholy, and Sarah leaves her to the feeling.

Sarah’s partway through her second cup of coffee by the time Cosima stumbles down the stairs. “Urgh,” Cosima says, and Sarah reaches over and hands her the chai. “You,” Cosima says, “are a goddess.” She slumps onto a stool and drinks. Her eyes are bleary. She had even more eggnog than Sarah did, so Sarah isn’t surprised.

She’s also wearing her sweater. If Alison made the yarn look like dreadlocks on purpose, Sarah will laugh; if Alison didn’t do it on purpose, Sarah will laugh harder.

“Merry Christmas,” Sarah says.

“Merry Christmas,” Cosima says back. She cranes her head to look past Sarah and says, “Oh, no, I missed the  _whole_  present thing. I got Kira--”

“--a chemistry set,” Sarah says. “I know. She’s thrilled. Stop corruptin’ her with all your science shit.”

Cosima snorts into her mug, flashes Sarah a wicked smile, drinks some more.

“Hey,” Sarah says. “Did you believe in -- shit, wait, never mind.”

“Were you about to ask about Santa?” Cosima says, a smile tugging up the edges of her mouth.

“Maybe,” Sarah says, and when Cosima starts laughing Sarah reaches over and shoves her shoulder. “Shut up, it’s early.”

“Hanukkah Santa,” Cosima says, still cackling to herself. “He actually comes climbing out of the menorah, who knows how he fits in there--”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Sarah says. “Alright, I get it, sorry, Christ.”

“I knew kids who did,” Cosima says, swirling her chai around contemplatively. “I used to be so smug, I was always like, ‘I  _know_ Santa isn’t real and I can  _prove_ it.’ Made me super popular on the playground.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says. “I always would tell kids that Santa was fake, just ‘cause...y’know. Shitty kid.”

Which was why, but only partially. Cosima’s mouth tilts in a way that says she knows. She finishes off her chai and leans over to grab Sarah’s hand, squeeze.

Helena comes trotting back into the kitchen; she has three bows stuck in her hair. “Thank you  _sestra_  Alison for ticket to cooking class,” she says, and then she plants a wet kiss on Alison’s cheek and slings an arm over Sarah’s shoulder. “Thank you for vegetable seeds.”

She blows a raspberry onto Sarah’s face. “ _Gross_ ,” Sarah says, but doesn’t shove her away.

“Hey, where’s my slobber,” Cosima says, and Helena barks a laugh and leans over so she can lick Cosima’s cheekbone. “Thank you for dress,” she says, as Cosima laughs. “I am glad the  _sestra_ s in Ukraine are safe now. Thank you for that too.”

Cosima reaches around Sarah to squeeze Helena’s hand, and then they all settle back down on their stools. In the other room Sarah can hear Gemma shrieking; she knows Felix will be awake soon, and Donnie, and Delphine, and Adele will come over, and Scott and Hellwizard will appear out of nowhere to play video games on Alison’s TV, and the house will be loud and raucous and wild. She’s looking forward to it, but she’s not ready for it yet.

Right now: Cosima is telling Helena about Hanukkah with her parents, and Alison has pulled her phone out of nowhere to take a photo of all of them with their matching sweaters, and Beth is watching Alison with this sweet sad smile on her face and MK and Krystal are holding some hushed discussion and Tony is nodding along to Cosima’s stories and Katja is looking out the window and Rachel, Rachel is watching all of them. Sarah doesn’t know what expression she’s making, really. When she meets Sarah’s eyes she raises her eyebrows.

 _You could just have this_ , Sarah says.  _You could just let yourself have this._

 _Take your own advice_ , Rachel says, and a smile tugs up the edge of her mouth, and she’s gone. They’re all gone. There’s a hollow in Sarah’s chest, for one second, and then her heart fills back up to the brim with the sound of her family all around her.

“Love you guys,” she says, in a moment where no one else is talking.

“Yeah,” Cosima says, “love you too.”

“Happy Christmas,” Helena says.

“Get in closer,” Alison says, “closer, no, Sarah, don’t squirm out of this--” and they’re all pressing her closer, their arms around each other, laughing enough to make their chests hurt, and when Alison takes the picture the light of the flash is blinding.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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